Operation Nail the Swan
by We Love Mobward Contest
Summary: Her audition turned me on, and that pisses me off, but it's her identity that's the game changer.


**Story Title:** Operation Nail the Swan

 **Summary:** Her audition turned me on, and that pisses me off, but it's her identity that's the game changer.

 **Pairing:** Edward/Bella

 **Rating:** M

 **Word count:** 10,000

 **Disclaimer:** All things Twilight belong solely to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended

The steady thrum of music reverberates through the walls as I sit at Rose's desk, sipping my Glenfiddich and going over the club's income statement. Midnight Sun is a completely legit enterprise that I like to dangle in front of the Feds. They spend so much of their focus here that the rest of Chicago is like a wide-open playground.

A tap sounds at the door. "Come in." Setting my whiskey aside, I lean back and prop my feet on the desk.

A svelte fake-blonde slips inside and closes the door behind her. With a lift of her perfectly sculpted brow, I know exactly what she thinks of my relaxed position, but she won't dare say the words.

I chuckle. "Rose, can I help you?"

Her eyes narrow but only slightly. She's not a fucking fool. "Do you have time for an audition?"

I tilt my head and shrug. "I suppose I could make the time." Standing, I stalk around to the front of the desk and stand before her, picking a piece of lint from her red suit. "This one better fucking measure up, though. I have no interest in littering Midnight Sun with the trash you paraded before me last time."

"Y-yes, sir," she stutters as she backs away and hurries out the door.

I laugh to myself as I retake my seat. I like Rose—as much as I like anyone outside the Outfit—but it's imperative that she know her place. And that's subservient to me. She has one job, and it's to run this fucking club to the letter of the law. Otherwise, she's another useless twit with great legs.

Midnight Sun sets the standard for young and hip while providing the most self-indulgent atmosphere possible. Our dancers are displayed throughout the main floor on raised platforms. Both male and female bodies twirl in sinuous displays, completely lost to their own beat. Our patrons come because it's the place to be, but they stay for an experience unlike any other.

It's for this reason that I'm the only person who can approve someone for the floor. Our dancers aren't the average fifty-dollar-fucks you get at low-ball joints spread throughout town. I consider them to be artists, sculpting an erotic free-flowing masterpiece that's constantly evolving before our patrons' eyes. Our ultraviolet lighting, just perfectly placed, in combination with the heavy beat from the music creates a heady ambience as the backdrop to their performances.

I grab my whiskey and kill it before settling back at the desk and opening the small laptop. Just as I've gotten logged on, a small knock sounds before the door pops open and Rose peeks her head around the corner.

Lifting my hand, I flick two fingers, giving her the go-ahead to enter. She straightens and struts into the room with a scantily clad woman trailing behind her. After only a glance, I lift a dubious brow at Rose, but instead of appearing concerned, she simply passes the jump drive over and holds my stare.

When she finally looks away, because let's face it, she fucking better, I curl my lip and push the drive into the USB, instantly uploading all the information for this prospective artist straight to my younger brother, Emmett. By the time this audition is over, he'll know everything about this girl, down to her favorite color of nail polish.

Taking my time, I pour a fresh glass of whiskey and rock back in my chair. "What's your name?"

"Edward, this is Iz—"

My glass smacks against the desk as precious caramel liquid sloshes over the rim. "Did I ask _your_ name, Rosalie?" The ice-cold barb is delivered with a scolding stare before I flick my eyes back to scrutinize the dancer.

Her whole demeanor screams small and scared—slumped shoulders, eyes to the floor, wringing hands. My expectations decline rapidly, but I refuse to pass judgment prematurely. I've seen excellent artists in the past whose only confidence lies in their performance. In real life they're timid and sometimes even clumsy.

A dark thought enters my mind, and I start across the room, stopping first as I tower over Rose. "You're dismissed."

With an encouraging grip of the young woman's arm, Rose meets my eyes and lifts her chin before strutting from the room. Her confident behavior perplexes me in a way that only piques my curiosity. Intrigued, I focus back on the woman of the hour.

Taking one long stride, I stand head and shoulders above her. The tension in her frame is obvious, but it isn't fear that I sense. It's defiance, strong and potent, that rolls off her small form in waves.

I smirk to myself and speak in a low, commanding voice. "What is your name?"

A deep breath is drawn and expelled before her voice rings through the silent space. "Izzy Star," she says, her dark eyes snapping up to meet mine.

The fury that rages within them is dangerous. For her. It would cost her life if she were to unleash it.

I hold her stare, cold and unaffected. "I didn't ask your stage name. Midnight Sun doesn't operate the way in which you might be accustomed." I lift a brow, daring her to open her pursed lips.

Rage, pure and unadulterated, flashes in her eyes, and she has to look away to conceal it. Smart girl. Surely Rosalie warned her of the dangers I pose.

With a deep, satisfied chuckle, I stalk back to the desk without further interaction. Lifting the remote, I push a button and a podium lifts from the floor as music and lights create a mini-replica of the main dance space, three floors below.

The stage is set; her clock is ticking down.

Though her head is turned in my direction, the darkness prevents me from seeing the anger I feel in her stare. I wave her off. "Save your indignation. Audition or get out."

Patience isn't my strong suit, and just before mine snaps to smithereens, her body starts moving. She begins by stretching her neck back and around, a slow movement meant to tantalize, but I'm completely immune to petty tricks. She'll need to do much better than this.

Slipping the small silk coverlet from her shoulders, she's up on the platform in one sudden move that's perfectly timed with the music that pulsates from the speakers. Her body is toned and sinful, but they always are. You don't come to Midnight Sun looking for a position unless you have skill, it's an unspoken rule. My rule, but word gets out.

I chuckle at my own thoughts, and focus back on the woman poised against the center prop. Okay, it's a fucking pole, but I don't like the term nor the cheap implication, and no one dares to refute me, so a prop it is.

As the notes expand and fill the room, her body seems to absorb them. Fluid and elegant, she bursts into movement as if the music is emanating from her very pores. The sway of her hips, though something I've seen a thousand times, is mesmerizing, and her goddamn legs ... they go on forever.

My eyes rove over her, eager to drink in every slight fluctuation as the ultra-violet light makes her skin glow in the dark space. Methodically, she breaks through my every barrier as she caresses skin that I ache to feel under my fingertips. With every dip, swerve and undulation, she puts her art on full display, and I'm goddamn hypnotized.

My normally unresponsive cock has now swelled in my Armanis, and my lower lip is trapped between my teeth. "What the fuck?" I mumble to myself as I release the tender flesh and take several deep, even breaths. " _Datti un contegno_ ," I growl, needing to get ahold of myself.

I avert my eyes from the sinful display and clench my jaw. It pisses me off to have this reaction. I'm not some fucking fourteen-year-old virgin seeing a pair of tits for the first time.

I'm the fucking Underboss of the Chicago Outfit.

What's worse, I can't stop my eyes from slipping back to her tantalizing display. I slam my hands on the desk, but she doesn't react. On and on she continues taunting me with her allure, cementing my traitor eyes to her seductive movements.

When I'm on the brink of putting a bullet through her head, the music finally comes to a stop and the room brightens, breaking the spell. She's just an average artist again, and the relief settles in almost immediately—for all pertinent body parts.

The room is silent of everything except her small puffs as she works to regulate her breathing. I use the quiet minutes to compartmentalize whatever the fuck just happened. By the time I'm ready to address her, I've convinced myself that I just need to get laid.

With unchecked anger still simmering below the surface, I pin her with a lifted brow. "Your name?" I state in a tone that leaves no room to misinterpret the demand.

When she stays silent, I stand, my chair flying backward at least three feet, and stalk toward her. "Let's get one thing clear," I say as I move across the room to tower over her. "If you want to work for my club, you'll learn some fucking respect. So give me your name or get the fuck out."

"Bella," comes the small voice before dark, deep eyes rise to meet mine. "My name is Bella."

I lift a strand of her chestnut hair, marveling at the softness as it glides between my fingers "Well, _Bella_ ," I emphasize to be a smart ass. "You do know who I am, right?"

The defiance that flashes in her eyes causes my cock to twitch. Anger surges through me, and I wrap her hair in my fist. "You'd do well to keep that hidden. Your audition was flawless, but you'll lose more than a job if you disrespect me again." I take a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent that rolls from her body, and release her, turning to storm from the room.

As the slam of the door echoes behind me, Rosalie jumps from where she was leaned against the wall. "Edward, you scared me half to death," she screeches, her hand on her chest as she takes deep breaths.

I stop, my fingers automatically gripping the tousled mess atop my head. "Pay attention next time," I snap, and then I start pacing like a caged animal.

After several glorious beats of silence, a huff draws my attention to Rose. She's standing there with her arms crossed and her eyebrow hiked high.

"What!" I snarl as I struggle to get my irrational anger under control.

"Nothing," she answers easily as she brings her hand up to study her nails. "Is Izzy hired, or should I send her home?"

I almost growl at the fucking stage name. "Fine!" I huff and step closer, my face menacing. "But if she's a fuck up, it's on you." With a jab to her chest, I turn and storm to the waiting elevator, using my fingerprint to travel down to the lowest depths.

The ride is smooth and calming as I work to regain my composure. When the doors open, I stride out, following the narrow pathway that connects this building to my own. After using my fingerprint to unlock a titanium reinforced door, I inhale the scent of concrete and the faint trace of burnt rubber. My lips lift at the corners.

"Mr. Cullen." Demetri, the trusted guard of my most treasured possessions, seems nonplussed by my unexpected appearance. "Do you have a particular vehicle in mind?"

I smirk. He knows me so well. "I'm headed to the warehouse, surprise me." I shrug, and he retreats into the small cement room.

After removing my Armani jacket, I roll the sleeves of my white shirt to my elbows, intent on ignoring the incessant vibrations coming from my phone.

"Here you are, sir," Demetri says as he returns with a key ring. "A most appropriate vehicle for a night such as this."

I chuckle as I take the key to my Range Rover. "Thank you, Demetri. This will be perfect." I toss him my jacket. "Save that for when I return."

I start for the neat row of carefully selected vehicles. Each step I take soothes me more and more. Pride swells as I pass my first purchase; a fully custom 1969 GTO convertible. A pang of sadness flits through me when I see the yellow Porsche—a gift for Alice, who's sadly no longer able to enjoy it. My thighs ache to grip my unrestricted 1999 Suzuki Hayabusa GSXR 1300, and my hands itch with the need to shift all seven gears of my Lamborghini Aventador.

As I slip into the Rover, I smile at the plastic that covers the driver's seat and floorboard. Demetri's been with the family since I was a boy, and he's one of my most trusted, competent made men. It almost feels as if he should be doing more, but I nix that thought when I think of anyone else touching my babies.

Before I pull out, my eyes stray back to the Busa, and I promise myself that it'll get a ride later tonight. Right now, I need to work out some frustrations, and what better way than to make a rat squeak?

When I arrive at the dilapidated, brick building nestled into a dark corner near Lake Michigan, there's not a soul in sight. The sky overhead is pitch black with no moon to shine on my wicked deeds. The door whines in protest as I push it open, and the smell of stale dust and mildew fills my lungs.

A shiver runs through me, but it's the fucking good kind. The quiver of anticipation you get right before opening the throttle, releasing so much power that you're not sure if you can handle it until the moment is upon you.

Quietly, I use my key ring flashlight to slip through the dark interior, my Salvatore Ferragamos not making a sound. When I hear a noise, I step around a corner and pull out my piece. Clumsy footsteps follow a wide beam from a flashlight. I jump out and tighten my forearm around the idiot's throat, my barrel up against his temple.

"Make one move and you're dead," I say in a low growl.

"Boss?" comes the reply, and I roll my eyes, loosening my arm and pushing the body away.

"Ya fucking idiot! Guardi dove va!" I snap, telling Aro to watch where he's going. "I thought you were in charge around here." I widen my arms to the ruined building around us. "I could've been anybody sneaking in!"

"Sorry, Boss. I was just going out for a smoke," he says with a shrug. "I wasn't expecting ya here."

I cock my gun and point it at him. "Well maybe you won't care if I take you out right now, then?"

His eyes widen so far I can see the whites glowing. Shaking his head rapidly, he falls at my feet and wraps his arms around my legs. "Don't kill me, Boss. I'll quit smoking, I swear."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and look upward, my patience already on a knife's edge. Aro is one of my Caporegimes, along with his brothers Marcus and Caius, and while he's good at running a crew, he absolutely has a fucking screw loose. While Marcus is cool and calm, and Cauis has a mean streak, Aro's neither. He goes about life as if he lives in another realm, completely wrapped up in his own head, but he's effective. His crew is my highest earners.

Not wanting to ice a Capo, I breathe deeply and let it roll off my shoulders before kicking my legs out of his grip and moving away. "Get the fuck up, and take me to the rat."

Instead of going to the basement like I expect, Aro leads me up four flights of stairs and into an old corner office. Two of his soldiers guard a pathetic form, zip-tied to a chair, naked, aside from his cheap tighty-whities.

My eyes narrow as they scrutinize the associate who flipped and sent one of Aro's soldiers up the river. The anger from earlier returns, seeping into my blood and soaring through my limbs. Pure adrenaline rushes through my muscles as they coil tight with barely repressed energy.

I walk over and kick the snitch in the shin. He reacts with a loud scream as he lifts his drooping head, but it's immediately obvious the second he realizes who's standing before him. His eyes almost pop out of his fucking head.

"Jacob Fucking Black," I say, kicking his shin again, just because I like hearing him yell. "You're one lucky motherfucker to get my personal attention. Sporco cazzo di ratto." At me calling him a dirty fucking rat, Aro erupts into a belly-shaking laugh.

I pin him with murderous eyes. "Sta 'zitto."

He does as I tell him and shuts the fuck up, while I focus back on Jacob. Usually an offense such as this would be dealt with solely by Aro, but tonight I have some misplaced anger to unleash. And who the fuck knows, maybe I can make him squeak before I whack him.

Cracking my knuckles, I reach down and pull a knife from my Zimmerili Cashmere socks and flick open the blade, a sinister smirk aimed at the traitor. My steps are slow and measured as I approach him, the fear in his eyes feeding the monster inside me.

I reach up and push the blade into his forehead, digging a crevice across it, reveling in the blood that pools and runs into his eyes. His body starts struggling, twisting and rocking, anything to escape the torture, but I haven't even fucking begun.

When his scream fills the silence, I turn to Aro. "Duct tape his mouth."

My Capo rubs his hands together swiftly. "I like yo style, man."

Even though I tolerate Aro's quirks, disrespect is unacceptable. I snatch him up by the front of his shirt. "Never call me man again," I grit, enunciating each word slowly. "I'm your fucking boss, and you'll do well not to forget it."

The fear that flashes in his eyes is unmistakable, as it should be. On a night like tonight, a comment like that could cost him his life. "Now get the fucking tape." I shove him away and turn back to the blood-covered man in the chair.

Pacing before him, I wait as Aro loops the tape around his head. "You know, Jacob," I start absently, "I might be willing to give you a chance to die quickly. You could talk now and skip the incessant torture you're about to endure."

He starts shaking his head rapidly, which is no surprise. It would've been a huge fucking letdown if he'd agreed so quickly. An almost sinister laugh bubbles inside me, the giddiness of what I'm about to do uncontainable.

Stepping closer, I push the knife against where his palm and thumb connect and meet his eyes as I press down. His muffled screams are the only sound as I rock the blade back and forth, severing his thumb completely and thumping it to the floor.

"Torch." It's the only word I utter, but this time, Aro snaps into motion, hurriedly lighting the butane flame and passing it over.

I move it around in front of the snitch's face, allowing him to hear the powerful roar of the fire before I point it at his bleeding appendage. His skin sizzles and shrivels as the smell of burning flesh fills the air. His agonizing screams are cloaked by duct tape, and the monster in me rejoices.

By the time I get to his fourth finger, his eyes plead with me to ask the question again. But I'm too far gone; the evil motherfucker that I keep contained has been released. Instead, I pull a sawed-off shotgun from the harness on my chest and push it against his knee, pulling the trigger.

The flesh explodes from the blow and blood splatters everywhere. Repulsed by the red specks that dot my white Brunello Cucinelli button up, I step back and take several deep breaths, the monster fading.

"Rimuovere il nastro adesivo," I order, and watch as Aro unwinds the tape, pulling it off with chunks of hair still attached.

The rat is barely conscious, so I kick him in the shin, right below the knee I just blew to hell. A scream fills the air, but his angry eyes snap to mine. "Just fucking kill me, Cullen."

"Not until you tell me what I want to know," I say calmly. "We can continue our games or you can die with a little dignity."

He has the audacity to laugh, but it sounds slightly deranged. "You call spilling my guts dignity?"

I walk over and lean down to look him in the eye. The smell of singed wood and burnt flesh fill my nose. "Dignity is returning to your roots, righting a wrong you committed. You ratted on someone in the family. You owe a debt. The least you could do is tell me how they got to ya."

"And you'll put a bullet in my head?" he asks, a spark of hope lighting his eyes.

I nod once. "I'll blow your fucking brains out."

"What do ya wanna know?"

I take a step back and start pacing. "How'd they get to ya, and what do they know?"

With a heavy groan, he says, "Special Agent Swan."

My brows lift at this interesting development. Special Agent Swan is the head of the Organized Crime unit here in Chicago, and his target has been painted on my family for decades. I didn't even think he worked the field anymore, much less to go after small-time associates and soldiers.

"One of his men had Tyler under surveillance and caught a couple of buys between us on film." He pauses to catch his breath, and I briefly consider Tyler, a soldier I grew up with, who's doing a dime now thanks to this snitch. "Instead of using it to go after Tyler, Agent Swan came at me. Ya gotta understand, he threatened my wife. So for the next buy, I wore a wire."

I bark an incredulous laugh. "And you never considered that the Outfit would come looking for retribution?"

"Agent Swan told me he had it under control. He swore I could go back to my life and no one would come after me," Jacob says between heavy pants, and the funny thing is, I actually believe him.

"That's it? He didn't want you to work for him, get more info?" I ask, already suspecting that Agent Swan has another motive, an angle I'm unable to see right now.

"That's it, I swear," he says. "Kill me. Please."

"Where's ya wife?" I ask instead.

He starts shaking his head rapidly. "Please, no. No. I only did it for her in the first place. Please."

I pull out a Glock from my waistband and aim it at his head. "Ci vediamo all'inferno," I say, telling him I'll see him in hell as I pull the trigger.

Gathering my weapons, I turn to Aro. "Get this sorted, then find his wife and offer our condolences."

By the time I pull back into my garage, a calm has settled over me, the rage from earlier completely dissipated. I pull the Rover all the way in to Demetri's station, where he's already standing with a large plastic bag. After getting out of the SUV, I strip down to my black silk boxers, depositing each item into the bag as I remove it—including the weapons.

This may be an expensive route, but it's a guarantee that my fingerprints will never appear on a murder weapon or a victim's blood on my clothes. Demetri will deposit each item, along with the plastic from the Rover, into the building's incinerator, a perfectly sinister addition that exists outside of the architectural blueprints, as do many other features of my building.

What good is an armory if I'm not using the weapons, anyway?

My eyes flash to the Busa as I head to elevator. "Soon, baby."

After a quick shower, I throw on a black high-neck Cashmere sweater, making sure to top it with my Givenchy leather riding jacket. A quick trip to the armory supplies tonight's weapons, and the elevator returns me to my toys.

My Maison Margiela high-top leather boots thud against the concrete as I approach my baby. The thought of opening her up makes my blood race through my veins. Exhilaration fills me as I sling my leg over the sleek black machine, intimidating by its very demeanor. I slip the helmet over my head, and with the push of a button, the bike rumbles to life between my Armani jean covered thighs.

The power this machine exudes is unparalleled. The '99 was the first year of the Hayabusa, and it was so fast that its speed had to be restricted in 2000. Mine has seen the 200mph mark on an occasion or two, but even for me that's too fast for a two-wheel vehicle.

It was the closest to God I'll ever be.

With a two-finger wave at Demetri, I burn the back tire as I shoot toward the long underground tunnel that comes out blocks from my building. This is the one, true experience where I'm completely anonymous. Just another guy on his fucking badass bike.

By the time I hit the Kennedy Expressway, I'm already cruising at 70mph, the roar of power beneath me rocketing through my system. Twisting the throttle, I open her up, hitting 95 in mere seconds, and weaving my way through the nighttime traffic. For over an hour, I ride the differing expressways, until my appetite has been whetted.

Getting off downtown, I make my way through the streets back toward my building. After passing Midnight Sun, I come to a stop at the light, and a slim figure making its way down the sidewalk catches my eye. I rev the engine, but she doesn't turn so I can get a closer look.

When the light changes, instead of turning left for home, I continue straight and ease my way past the woman. Long dark hair conceals her face, but I'd know those fucking legs anywhere.

It's Bella.

Alone. In the middle of the night. Walking down the sidewalk.

I go to the next street and take a right so I can circle back around the block. But just as I see her figure again, she shoots down an alleyway.

What. The. Fuck.

What's even worse is two guys notice her also and start in the direction she disappeared. Anger surges through me. I pull back on the throttle, and the Busa surges to life beneath me, roaring down the city street faster than is legal.

By the time I turn into the alley, there are three silhouettes near the other end. Two large bodies have the smaller one against the wall, blocking her escape. I pull in the clutch and rev the engine, but they don't react. I let off the clutch and burn the tire halfway down the alley.

The two hulking figures take off, exiting out the other end, but my sights are on the woman. I stop in front of her and snatch off my helmet.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I yell, the rage from earlier making an abrupt reappearance. "Are you trying to get yourself killed!"

Bella, who was still cowering against the brick wall, turns from frightened to enraged before my very eyes. She steps forward and points her finger in my direction. "What the fuck are _you_ doing here? Haven't you already treated me like shit enough for one day?"

I lower the kickstand and pull my leg over the bike, standing to my full height. "I was saving your fucking life!"

She huffs and crosses her arms. "You really think I couldn't have handled that situation? That I'd be dead if you hadn't ridden up on your monster and saved me?"

My jaw clenches and I step closer, the fronts of our bodies almost touching. "I seriously can't fucking believe this. I save your life and you have the audacity to mock me." My eyes flit down her body once before returning to hers. "Did you misunderstand my earlier warning?"

Her eyes widen in pure unadulterated outrage. "How dare you! How fucking dare you!" Her finger lifts and starts jabbing me in the chest. "I may have to take that shit at Midnight Sun, but I won't take it here. Not when I'm away from the club. I won't!"

I'm so shocked by her reaction that all I can do is stand there and take it. Each jab sends a spark shooting through me, and by the time she's done, my blood is throbbing through my veins. Flashes of her dance pulse behind my lids, and the arousal from earlier returns ten-fold.

Stepping forward, I use my whole body to push her against the brick, trapping her in place, my cock bulging between us. My mouth descends on hers, and instead of pushing me away, she claws at my back to pull me closer.

The heat between us explodes as our tongues collide in a flurry of anger and passion. My palms trace down her sides before curving to cup her ass. With a small lift, she's up and her legs are gripping me tight as I finger the edge of her panties.

She pulls her mouth away, but I'm too far gone to care. Her head falls back against the brick as heavy breaths escape. My tongue travels down her neck as I start rocking my cock against her.

She moans, her hands frantically reaching for my waist, and I'm fucking done. Without removing my mouth from her skin, I have my pants open and my cock out, sliding her panties aside and filling her in one swift stroke.

The satisfaction is instant and mutual, but I need more. I fucking need it all. Planting my hands on her hips, I lean back and meet her eyes as I start thrusting. She braces her hands against the wall and rocks her whole body against me, tiny whimpers escaping in tune with each movement.

A shiver runs through me and I thrust faster, causing her to tighten and clamp down, her pussy pulsating against my cock. The feel of her spasming around me in combination with her sexy as fuck moans is more than I can take. I thrust as deep as I can and release with a growl, dropping my head to her shoulder in an attempt to gain control of my breathing.

After several quiet moments, I lift my head and look around at where I am and what I've done. I wait for the anger, or the disgust, but neither comes. I'm too goddamn blitzed out from a good fuck to even care.

"Gesù Cristo," I mumble, shaking my head.

Bella's leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed, but at the sound of my voice, they snap open. "What?"

I run my hand through my hair and step back, easing her legs to the ground. "Nothing. I can't believe we just fucked in an alley."

"But what did you say?" she demands as she works to straighten her skimpy-ass skirt.

"Oh." I wave it off as I'm fastening my pants. "I said Jesus Christ."

"That's all you have to say?" she asks, yet her voice has a new pitch. It's a little higher than usual. "You follow me here and accost me—in a dark, dirty alley no less—and all you have to say is Jesus Christ. You don't think I'm sorry is more appropriate?"

"Me?" I point to myself. "Sorry? What do I have to be sorry for? That was a mutual exchange if I've ever had one."

She huffs, her hand on her hip. "I'll give you that." She steps forward, that goddamn finger pointed. "Now stay the fuck away from me, Cullen. I may work in your brother's club, but I'm not your property." She turns and stomps away, but no matter how much I'd like, I can't let her go alone.

"Bella, wait. Please," I call, making her pause. "At least let me follow you home. I can't allow you to walk the streets alone."

She turns then, and she's actually smiling. "That's a nice sentiment, Mr. Cullen, but frankly, it's not your place to allow me anything, aside from my job at Midnight Sun." I go to speak, but she holds up a finger, waving it between us. "Thanks for the release, but I don't make a habit of fucking my bosses." She walks over and taps the brick of the building we just fucked against. "This is my building. All I have to do is walk around the corner, and I'll be home."

My jaw ticks, but I keep my mouth closed as she turns and sashays her fucking ass around the corner. Picking up my helmet, I sigh at the scuff across the top, and put it on, straddling the Busa. I wait a minute or two before revving her up and easing my way out the same end of the alley Bella just exited. Looking both ways, I make sure she really is inside before pulling into the street, headed home.

As the elevator climbs toward the penthouse, I wait for the anger to come, but it never does. I make it a priority to never fuck an employee, and I just blew that to hell, yet for some reason I can't even be bothered to care. The feel of her hot pussy clamping on my dick was just too fucking good. Somehow, I was able to forget we were in a nasty alley up against hundred-year-old brick.

I scrub a hand through my hair and lean back against the wall. "Ho bisogno di una doccia cazzo," I mumble, aching to wash the grime from my skin.

Apparently that's not in the cards, though, because as soon as the doors open, I see bodies spread on my furniture. Interestingly enough, it doesn't even irritate me. What the fuck has that bitch done to me?

"Edward," my father exclaims as I walk into the living room. "It's nice to see you like to keep in touch with the family." He waves his glass of scotch around the room, motioning to Emmett and Esme, who are also present.

I snort. "Sure, Boss, the family." My eyes flick to Esme, who's nestled under my dad's arm.

Emmett cuts in then, trying to stop a disagreement before it begins. Holding up my phone, he pushes his glasses up his nose and says, "You left this here."

"No shit, Sherlock," I reply with an eye roll as I flop down on the crocodile leather sofa beside him. "I needed to get away and clear my head for a bit."

Carlisle chuckles, leaning forward. "Yeah, I heard about that." His glass slaps against the cherry wood of my coffee table. "Did it ever occur to you that there was a reason Jacob Black was still alive?" He pins me with deadly, ice blue eyes.

I lift a brow. "Not really. I figured Aro was just playing with his kill. You know how he can be." I shrug and get up to get my own glass of whiskey. I'm going to need it if this is how my night is going to go.

Esme stands quickly and holds out her hands. "You sit. I've got this." She swings her ass around and sways it all the way to the bar.

I cut my eyes to my dad and flop back down, too tired to even get into this bullshit tonight. "Is it a problem that I iced him?"

Carlisle drags his eyes away from Esme's ass and sighs. "Doesn't matter if it is. It's done, but that's not why we're here anyway." He waves toward my brother and turns back toward Esme as she delivers my drink. "Emmett."

My brother leans forward and grabs his tablet from the coffee table, cueing it up and passing it over. I take a sip of my whiskey and look at the information on the screen, spewing Glenfiddich everywhere when I realize what I'm looking at.

"Cazzo di Budda," I whisper to myself, because seriously, holy fuck.

On the screen is a picture of Bella, only her name is Isabella—Isabella Swan. Instead of anger, a smirk forms. We've been waiting for a move like this since we opened, but never did I imagine Charlie Swan would send in his own daughter. Surely the stupid fuck knows we'd ID her, right?

"Get Aro and Rose here," I snap, my mind already forming a strategy. "Now!" I add when Emmett just looks at me with wide eyes.

He starts shaking his head slowly, his large glasses slipping down his nose. "There's no way you're pinning this on Rose. You're the one who hired her."

I roll my eyes. "Don't fucking worry, I'm not gonna blame your little imaginary girlfriend, but we have a strategy to discuss and implement." I rub my chin, lost in my own chaotic thoughts.

On the one hand, I've been waiting for this opportunity since Midnight Sun opened, but on the very fucked up other, I'm suddenly not so excited because it's Bella. I'm … if I had to put a name to it, I might even say, slightly disappointed?

I stand and start pacing, my hand tightening around my alley-stained hair. The thought disgusts me so I snatch it away, irritation creeping in to replace the buzz from my earlier encounter.

"Cazzo," I swear and pace faster, my mind jumping from thought to thought so rapidly I can barely keep up.

Every time I try to imagine how this plays out, flashes of us fucking invades my mind. But then a new thought occurs; one that gives me another focus and much more satisfaction. Will she report that to her father?

I actually chuckle aloud.

"Care to share with the class?" my father asks, waving his scotch-bearing hand in the air.

"I just can't believe Agent Swan was stupid enough to send in his daughter," I remark absently.

"Edward," my father says, his voice stern. "Did you read the information after her name and parents?"

I pause and look to him with furrowed brows. "No, but surely that's the most important fact."

Carlisle sighs and stands, walking over to grip my shoulder. "Son, if you're going to fill my shoes one day, you've got to learn to slow down and take in all the information before deciding on a course of action." He squeezes once and lets go, tilting his head toward the abandoned tablet. "Now, go look again."

My eyes narrow, but I follow his orders, mostly because I have no fucking choice, and grab the tablet, flopping down with purpose. As I scan the information, aside from who she is, it becomes clear why he felt the need to point it out.

From the looks of it, Bella hasn't had much contact with her dad since her parents divorced when she was seven. She grew up in Phoenix and graduated from the University of Arizona School of Dance two years ago, which could help explain why she's so bewitching. She broke up with her college sweetheart and moved to Chicago six months ago. The final piece of information brings a smile to my face. That goddamn Emmett. Her favorite nail polish color is purple.

I lift a brow at the Boss. "You seriously think this was a coincidence?"

He smirks. "You know I don't believe in coincidence, but I also don't believe in going off half-cocked."

At his mention of the word cock, Esme perks up and starts rubbing his thigh. I almost gag and jump up, heading into the kitchen to pour bleach in my eyes. Esme Platt is six years younger than me and is my father's goomah. And while it's a fairly common practice in the Outfit, I don't like to witness it, or anything that relates my father and sex. What's even worse is when your mother likes the goomah better than she likes your father.

I lean against the counter and take deep breaths, making every attempt to erase the image from my mind. But thoughts of sex only lead to my own, and before I know it, I'm reliving the whole ten-minute encounter in fine detail.

The ding from the elevator snaps me from the memory and I shake my head, heading back into the living room. Aro emerges and goes straight to my father, being a good little suck up, and Rose takes my seat next to Emmett, who turns bright red when she smiles his way.

I roll my goddamn eyes.

I love my brother as much as I can love another person, but he's not cut out for this life. From a very young age, it was obvious he'd never become a made man, unless it was by force. So he keeps his nose pretty clean and only aids with the super-technical shit, in addition to being listed as the owner of Midnight Sun.

With cutesy looks between Rose and Emmett on top of Roaming Hands Esme, and the addition of Aro's normal flair, we spend the next two hours discussing a plan to stay on top of what I've dubbed as _Operation Nail the Swan_.

I crack myself the fuck up.

In the end, it's decided that Emmett will put her under electronic surveillance, which is some serious shit. He has access to every camera in the city along with his own unique toys that I can't even begin to understand. In addition, Aro will have one of his soldiers, James, tail her, which strangely gives me some peace of mind over her late walk home. And finally, Rose will keep a special eye on her at Midnight Sun.

At five in the morning, I'm finally seeing those motherfuckers out my door. My dad stops and grips my shoulder on his way by. "Ya seem a little out of sorts, son. What gives?"

"This just doesn't feel right. The information isn't adding up." I shake my head, thinking about all that I learned tonight.

"Well, you be sure and steer clear of this broad until we know more," he says, pinning me with his deadly stare.

"You know I don't toy with the help, pop," I reply on instinct, not missing the command in his voice.

"Just so we're clear." He squeezes tighter and releases me, stepping into Esme's waiting arms. I feel sorry for my brother having to ride with the two of them.

When the elevator finally closes, I sigh and lean back against the wall, my father's command echoing inside my mind. Too fucking late. The past thirty-six hours feel like they've lasted five long years.

For the rest of the week, I go to the club and try to keep my eyes away from Bella, but no matter how fucking hard I try, the task seems impossible. On the first night after our fuck, I was simply walking to the VIP platform when I spotted her.

My traitorous feet stopped their movement and my eyes scanned her form as she swayed to a beat I couldn't even hear. When she spun, though, horror flitted through me. Across the top of her back, the ultraviolet light highlighted an area of blue skin that was covered in scrapes. Wounds consistent with a good brick-wall fucking. Guilt gnawed at me, which only pissed me the fuck off.

She's infiltrated my life. Both at the club and when it comes to the Outfit. Because they're intertwined when it comes to her. Even if she isn't working for her dad, she knows who he is, and she knows who I am. Whatever game she's playing, it's a dangerous one.

Six days after _Operation Nail the Swan_ begins, Emmett and Jasper are waiting at the penthouse when I get home after an invigorating stalking session. Well, not stalking per se, but I _was_ caught up in her performance.

"Jasper, good to see you," I say as I take off my suit jacket and pour a drink. "I was surprised when you weren't here last week."

He chuckles. "You know Alice would have my hide if left her at two in the morning, unless it was an emergency."

I take a sip of my whiskey, savoring the warmth as it travels down my throat. "How is she?" I ask.

Jasper is my father's Consigliere. They grew up together, and he's been at my father's side since he took over the Outfit. He's like an uncle to me, and in fact, Emmett still refers to him as such. His wife, Alice, was right there beside them their whole fucking lives, until she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

He sighs. "She has her good days and her bad ones," he says solemnly before his pain-filled eyes meet mine. "She's honestly just ready to stop hurting."

"Tell her I'll be by there soon," I reply, hating the thought of the feisty Alice I've always known in pain, but it's been that way for a long time now.

He nods. "Will do."

I take a seat on the sofa and place my drink on the coffee table. "Now let's get to business so Jasper can get back home. What ya got for me?" My eyes flick between the two of them.

Emmett clears his throat and pulls a laptop from beside him. Pushing his glasses into "serious business" position, his hand fly over the keys as I stay silent, mostly in awe at his technological skills.

When he's done, he flicks on the TV and hits a key on the laptop. A video appears on my sixty-inch screen. It's Bella and she's in the park, settled on a bench, reading a book. If it wasn't for my fetish when it comes to spying on her, I'd be bitching that he's bothering me with such inane bullshit, but for some fucked up reason, I can't get enough.

For eight fucking minutes I'm entranced as she occasionally crosses and uncrosses her legs while slowly flipping the pages of her book. In fact, I even get a little irritated when Emmett takes the initiative and fast forwards an extra five minutes.

"What the fuck you do that for?" I snap when he interferes with my ogling.

Emmett leans his head down and looks at me over the large, square rim of his black glasses. "Sorry, bro. It was just more of the same."

Jasper lets out an unexpected chuckle and my eyes snap to him. He shrugs. "What? You got a hard on for this broad or something?"

I huff. "This girl might be trying to take us down! It's my job to know her every goddamn move!"

Instead of agreeing, Jasper's eyes narrow as they scrutinize me. I hold his stare, intent on covering my ass. With a chuckle he slaps my shoulder and says, "Me thinks the boy doth protest too much." His tone is playful, but I still worry what he might share with my father.

"Play the goddamn video, Emmett," I snap, crossing my arms in a huff.

Emmett lets out a little squeak, but with a flick of his fingers, Bella's back on the screen. This time, though, I can already see the old, mustached fucker approaching. Special Agent Charlie Fucking Swan.

He sits, and she moves over to put a foot between them. I chuckle, ignoring the looks the two motherfuckers around me are giving each other. A sound crackles from the TV, and suddenly I can hear them speaking.

"Bella," Agent Swan says, his tone soft. "I know you're mad, honey, but you're being stupid."

"Stupid!" she yells, causing the people with kids in the background to cast her wary glances. She looks around and seems mortified, so she leans closer. "I'll tell you what's stupid. Stupid is leaving your family to chase someone else's. Stupid is thinking two cards a year will replace being a father. So trust me, my stupidity didn't fall far from the tree."

Agent Swan sighs, and I almost feel sorry for him, being on the other end of her wrath. "But, Bella, you're playing with your life. Edward Cullen is no good. What do you think working at his club is going to accomplish?"

"First," she says, holding up her fingers to tick off her points. "It's not _his_ club. Second, it's the highest paying job in the city for a dancer. And third, at least Edward Cullen never pretended to be something he's not."

Charlie's mustache twitches, and his face turns red. "How would you know anything about him?"

She actually smirks at the motherfucker, and I cringe, afraid of what might come out of her mouth. "Oh, I know all about Edward Cullen. He did more for me in ten minutes than you have my whole life."

He grabs her arm, and I tense. "You call allowing you to work in that filthy club doing something?"

She snatches her arm away and stands with a snort. "Oh, he worked me over all right."

"Now you listen to me, Isabella," Charlie yells, standing and shaking his finger, his whole head beet red. "You'll stay the fuck away from him, or I'll send you back to Phoenix."

She smiles and tilts her head like she pities him. "In case you missed it, Charlie, I'm a grown woman who can live where I please." With that she shoves her book in her bag and struts away.

The screen goes dark, and I just stare at it for several minutes, replaying the scene over and over in my mind. Not only did she stand up to him, but she even complimented me to spite him. This girl never fails to surprise me.

If I'm being honest, I haven't been able to get her out of my mind since I first saw her dance. Add in the fuck in the alley, and I'm way past gone. Suddenly, I have an urge to see her, speak with her, to learn what makes her fucking tick.

I grab my jacket and start for the elevator. "Whoa," Jasper calls, halting me. "Where's the fire?"

I scrub my hand through my hair in frustration, pausing only to say, "I need to see Bella."

"I think the boss gave you an order," Jasper says tersely, and the insinuation is clear, causing me to spin and face him.

"This surveillance nullifies that fucking order. Now, see yourselves out," I snap, my gaze cold and uncaring as I stare him down.

He holds up his hands, and with one final glare, I enter the elevator.

After checking the club and realizing she's already gone, I hurry out to the sidewalk and start down the path she takes on her walk home. I figure I'll at least run into James, but I don't. Not even when I turn down the alley and see three figures at the other end.

I start running. An unusual feeling crashes through me, something unfamiliar. But soon, I realize what it is. Fear. I'm afraid something will happen before I can reach her. Half-way down the alley, I pull out my gun and pause to take aim, hoping I can scare them, if nothing else.

Just as I'm ready to pull the trigger, the small figure huddled against the wall strikes. Her leg kicks out, kneeing one of the shadows in the balls. The other shadow grabs her, but she sends her head flying back to smack him in the nose. I'm both impressed and irate.

I start running again.

When I finally reach her, she's standing over the guy holding his balls, kicking him over and over with her spiked heels. The second guy is nowhere to be found. Though watching her give him a beat down is making my cock swell, I'd rather get her away from here.

I reach my arm around her waist, pulling her back against my body. She leans down, ready to head-butt me, but I whisper, "Shh, Bella, it's me. I've got you."

"Edward?" Her body relaxes against me.

"Hey, hey. Turn around. Let me look at you," I soothe, checking her over. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes flick to the guy on the ground before coming back to me. "I think so. Knowing self-defense and using it are two different things."

I brush her hair from her eyes. "I get it. You're okay now. I'm here." I glance to the guy and rage builds inside. "Do you want me to clip him?"

She giggles this cute little giggle, like I'm joking, but I'm not. "I'm dead serious, Bella."

Her face sobers instantly. "No, Edward, please don't. Not on my account."

Hearing my name from her lips sends chills racing over my skin. "What about on the account that he'll probably do this again, and the next girl might not be as badass as you?"

Her brows pucker. "Do you really think he will?"

"Not a doubt in my mind," I say with a definitive nod.

She looks back at him with scorn. "Can we just go?"

"Sure," I reply, taking out my silenced Glock.

"Wai—"

She's too late. I aim and pull the trigger, hitting him in his side, making sure to miss all vital organs. She jumps, shrieking a little as her hands cover her mouth, her eyes wide on the ailing man. Slowly, they come back to me. I hold my breath and wait for her reaction, but she just steps closer to my side.

"Relax, Bella. He'll live," I assure her, holstering my gun. "I just don't want him to get away before they find him."

"Shooting someone is a crime," she retaliates, giving me the bitch brow.

I smirk. "I think we both know he'd be dead if I wasn't being considerate of your feelings," I say as I put my phone to my ear. Aro answers on the first ring. "Get the cops to the alley beside Bella's building."

"What we talking," he asks.

"Stalker with a gunshot wound," I say, then bark, "Inoltre, dire a James che sarà lui a rispondere a me presto," to let him know that James will answer to me for his fuck up tonight.

Pocketing my phone, I put my arm around Bella and start leading her away. "Um, Edward? I live back there." She tries to turn around, but I keep prodding her forward.

"We're going to my penthouse, if that's okay?" I say and wait for her to stop walking, but she doesn't.

She actually ducks her head like she's all shy and shit. "Sure."

I smirk to myself and keep on walking. By the time we've made it to my building, the silence between us is fucking with my head. Instead of feeling comfortable, it's anticipatory. It doesn't help that every time I remember who's with me and where we're going, my Armanis get a little fucking tighter.

Once we enter the elevator, I scan my fingerprint and key in the code for my garage. When we start moving down, Bella eyes me speculatively. I hold my palms up. "Just need to drop something off."

Her eyes narrow, but her lips tighten, saying nothing. By the time the doors open again, the atmosphere has shifted. The small steel box is overflowing with tension. Sexual tension. I'm actually relieved when I see Demetri waiting for me.

I step out and give him the Glock, but he leans over to look past me, at Bella, who's still in the elevator. Returning his eyes to mine, a spark of mirth shines in them. I brush my hand through my hair and shake my head.

"Don't," I say.

He tightens his lips to hold in whatever the fuck he's thinking, and takes the Glock, stepping back with the closest thing to a smirk I've ever seen from him. My eyes narrow before I step into the elevator and scan my print, this time going up.

All the way up.

Bella's leaning against the back wall, her body tense, her goddamn legs stretched out long and fucking enticing. "I don't know why you were in the alley, but thank you for being there."

As much as I'd like to be the good guy, I'm not. In one move, I'm standing before her, my hands settled on her waist. "I was looking for you," I say, and my voice sounds all strained and desperate. I clear my throat and try again. "I am sorry for shooting that guy in front of you, though."

Her hands land on my forearms and slide against my skin, causing my heart to thump in my goddamn chest. "Edward," she says, all breathy and shit, and my cock throbs. "I think we both know you're not the superhero."

And that's fucking it. That's all I can take. My hands run up her sides, skimming her tits and landing on the wall to box her in as my lips descend. What's so fucking insane, though, is she's just as desperate. Her hands fist my hair as we meet in a clash of lips and skin.

Shit gets out of hand real fucking quick.

Before I know it, she's pinned against the wall, her fucking glorious legs wrapped around my waist, and the buttons of her shirt are scattered across the elevator floor. I snatch my lips away, hoping to slow things down, but those goddamn tits are on full display and I can't resist. When my lips close over her covered nipple and blow, her head thumps back against the wall with a whimper.

The haze of lust that's exploded between us lifts slightly when the elevator dings, signaling we've arrived at the penthouse. I can't decide if that's a good thing or not. But all too soon, it becomes glaringly clear.

The staccato of a slow clap sounds from behind me, and Bella's eyes widen while my head falls to her shoulder. "Qualcuno sta per morire," I grit through clenched teeth, threatening the life of whoever is stupid enough to be in the penthouse.

I lift my head and meet her eyes. "Mi dispiace, la mia Bella." I assist her in regaining her footing.

She cups my cheek, her dark eyes soft. "I'm not sure what you're saying, but don't ever stop."

I can't help it. I lean down and press my lips to hers one more time before straightening and pulling her shirt closed. "I said I'm sorry." I nod toward the penthouse. "This fucker obviously has no decorum."

Her fingers walk up my chest and she leans closer, speaking quietly. "Let's just go see what they want so they'll hurry up and leave."

My brows rise, her words heading straight to my still-bulging cock. "Fuck, yeah."

I drape my jacket over her shoulders before taking her hand and turning to step out of the elevator. But we're only a few paces into the penthouse when we both freeze. I reach for my Glock, but then I remember I gave it to Demetri.

Two rigid men sit on my couch.

The Boss of the Chicago Outfit has a salacious smirk as his eyes pass over Bella, while Special Agent Swan levels me with a heated glare.

I tense and pull her close to my side.

"Sit down, kids. We need to talk."

 **A/N: Please leave the writer encouragement in the form of a review and a thank you for entering our contest.**


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